


What Is Honor Compared To A Lover's Touch?

by ladyjeynewesterling



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyjeynewesterling/pseuds/ladyjeynewesterling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A telling of Robb taking the Crag from Jeyne's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is Honor Compared To A Lover's Touch?

They came in the black of the night.

Jeyne awoke to the song of steel clashing, men shouting, and horses neighing. Her bedchamber was dark as pitch save for the dying embers in the hearth across the room. She could see the faint outline of her younger sister, with whom she often shared her bed. The girl was fast asleep, her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Jeyne threw the bed covers back and eased out of bed slowly as to not wake her.

Mother and father warned this might happen, Jeyne thought as she peered through her small bedchamber window. She tried to make out banners, but it was useless. The moon played peek-a-boo with thick, dark clouds and the torches the men below carried were too far and few in between.

 _Which king do these men serve? Stannis Baratheon with his false god and red witch_ , she wondered. _The Young Wolf who rides upon the back of a great beast. Or maybe the sea had come this far inland, bringing savage iron islanders with it._

 _It makes no matter_ , Jeyne decided as she turned away from the window and shook Elenya awake. _We are lost._

***  
In under 30 minutes, he'd taken her castle.

It was not a proper castle: whole sections were largely in decay, bricks missing from the walls allowed the wind in, and the shed was and battered, broken mess; all of which the Westerlings could not afford to fix. Still, the Crag was the only home Jeyne knew. _And now this false king had barged in and declared it his._ The thought made her angry; she dug her nails into the palms of her hands as hard as she could.

His men had assembled her family and their few servants in the main hall. A large, muscular man with a ferocious brown beard lit a fire in the great hearth in an effort to combat the chill, yet still the wind seeped through. A monstrous grey wolf paced the room. Jeyne shuddered at the sight of it before turning to face her captor.

The rebel king wore plain blue armor, dented and scratched, spotted with rust in odd spots. He cleared his throat and stared at the unkempt household, eyes unflinching.

 _How could such a cold man have such wonderful eyes?_ Jeyne wondered. She could get lost in them. They were a deep blue, hard and icy, yet she could see the water underneath. He was wounded too, she saw. A ragged bandage had been hastily wrapped about his left shoulder but fresh blood was seeping through, blotting the white fabric. The very sight of him stirred something in her. Jeyne had felt this thing before, when she had practiced kissing their only stable boy, but never with such intensity. Suddenly it became unbearable to look in his face. She stared at her feet instead as the rebel explained his terms. "You are free to move about the castle," he said, "but I cannot permit you to leave the grounds and my men will see to the birds. You all may...you can return to your chambers."

That only made Jeyne angry again. How dare he tell my lord father what to do in his own home, she thought as she walked back to her bedroom.

There were still a few hours left before dawn. Jeyne tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, her thoughts turned to red hair and full lips and she felt that stirring again. “No, Joffrey Baratheon is the one true king”, she whispered aloud, turning on her side. “This one is false and a rebel all the same.” She tried to shove image of her captor from her mind, but unbidden, he kept coming back.

Two hours later and still sleep would not come. The sun was rising slowly and so Jeyne rose with it. She filled a basin with water from a jug near the door, and carefully washed and dressed herself. She chose a delicate yellow gown with a fitted bodice. It was nicer than what Jeyne would wear on a normal day, but casual enough that it would not raise suspicion. She was not very skilled with hair, so she braided hers in a simple long braid. By the time Jeyne finished Eleyna had awoken and was nearly dressed.

“Coming down for breakfast,” Eleyna asked her.

“No..no, I have something I need to take care of,” Jeyne responded nervously, smoothing out the folds in her skirt.

Eleyna shrugged and left the room. Jeyne waited until she no longer heard her sister’s footsteps before slipping into the hall. She hurried past her parent’s bedchamber and into a small room in a nook near the staircase. It was there that she found what she needed.

After she hunted down what she was looking for,, Jeyne darted out of the room and climbed the winding staircase to wear he rested. Each step seemed a little harder than the one before, but Jeyne pressed on. _There is honor in kindness_ , she told herself. _Besides we have no maester. It would be dishonorable to let him suffer._

No one ever went to the fourth floor of the Crag. What was probably once a splendid area that some maester frequented was now dilapidated. A wooden beam hung splintered from the rafters and chinks of bricks were missing from the wall letting the wind howl through. _This is no fit place for a lord, let alone a king_ , Jeyne thought as she ducked under low hanging beams and jumped over areas where the floorboards had been ripped out. When she reached the bedchamber, she hesitated, took a deep breath, and pushed open the heavy oaken door.

The chamber was just as bad the hall: glass was missing from most of the windows and there was a hole in the ceiling. Water from last night’s rains pooled on the floor beneath it and the earthy smell of mildew perfumed the air. A hole in the door that adjoined the chamber to the rookery allowed the few ravens the Westerlings owned to fly freely between the two areas, leaving droppings behind them. And on a small, straw cot in a corner of the room lay the King in the North. Jeyne thought he seemed smaller without the mail and steel encasing him. His back faced her, but as she shut the door behind her, he turned over and sat up.

“I hope I didn’t wake you..Your Grace,” she said nervously.

“No, I did not get much rest with this,” he nodded toward his wounded shoulder. The bandage was no longer white, but brown, caked with dried blood.

“Well, if it pleases, you, Your Grace, I can help.” Jeyne held up the bucket she had brought with her. In it were clean rags, a knife, a pot, and a flagon of wine.

He nodded. And so Jeyne set the pail down and prodded the dying fire in the hearth with a poker until it blazed strong again. She then filled the pot with wine and put it on the fire and sat down on the cot. The rebel king held out his left arm and Jeyne set to work.

She removed the soiled bandages and wiped the dried blood from his shoulder. When the wine was hot enough Jeyne poured it over the hole the arrow that pierced his skin had left. The rebel winced and ground his teeth, but did not cry out.

"You can’t stay here," Jeyne whispered while wrapping his shoulder with fresh rags.

"Well, My Lady, when you take a castle -” the Young Wolf began.

"No, I mean in this room.” She motioned toward the broken windows. "You can use my bedchamber. I’ll stay with my sister until you are well."

He gave her a curt nod and fell silent.

Not another word passed between them as Jeyne finished wrapping his shoulder. When she was done, she gathered the supplies she had brought with her and moved towards the door. As Jeyne was leaving she heard a faint “thank you, My Lady” before shutting the door behind her.

***

The next day broke bleak and overcast. Pale clouds adorned the sky like wispy pillows while the wind pulled at the Crag’s doors and shutters. Normally a day such as this would leave Jeyne feeling downcast, _but not today_. Even her mother’s probing questions and her father’s grumbling about honor did not bother her. After breaking her fast in the small dining hall with her family, Jeyne went back to Eleyna’s bedchamber where she had spent the night. She called out a greeting to ensure that it was empty before dropping to her knees and sliding her hand under the bed, grasping for the pail. When she found it, she left the room and walked over to her own chamber.

Jeyne knocked softly on the door and waited five heartbeats for an answer. When none came, she opened it.

The Young Wolf was seated on her bed, a piece of parchment and pen in hand, a pot of ink sat beside him. An intense look of concentration played on his hard features.

Jeyne cleared her throat, “I can come back if you wish.”

He looked up and set the parchment aside. “No, come. I was just looking this over.”

“May I ask what is?” She implored as she sat on the bed and began searching through the contents of her pail.

“A tally of our treasury.” The king held out his left shoulder. “ I know houses and war. Yet, I am horrible at sums.”

“And here I thought kings were supposed to be good at everything.” Jeyne gasped and covered her mouth. For half a heartbeat, she was mortified. _I have spoken out of turn_. She could feel her cheeks burning.

But the Young Wolf only smiled and the face of a king melted, and there sat a boy.

***  
Everyday Jeyne visited the rebel king her heart softened a little more for him. And every night, as she laid in bed eager for dawn to break, that voice of dissension would whisper that it was folly and that he was false. But as the days turned into weeks, it grew weaker and whenever it was a bit too strong, she hushed it with her own grumblings about honor.

The King in the North was getting stronger by the day and Jeyne knew that soon he would go back to war. _I must savor these last few days_ , she thought as she sat redressing his bandages. The king himself was in a good mood: his arm didn’t hurt him as much and so he sat joking and making light hearted conversation.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and the same man who lit the fire the day the Crag was taken entered. He looks nervous, Jeyne noticed.

“Your Grace, We’ve had word fr-” the tall man started, yet when he spotted Jeyne his sentence fell short. “Eh...perhaps we should discuss this privately.”

Jeyne made to rise, but the king caught her by the wrist and pulled her back down beside him. “No, stay,” he whispered. His face had become a kingly mask once more.

“As you wish. We’ve had a raven,” the big man paused, sweating. “Theon...Bran and Rickon are dead. He took Winterfell”

The king squeezed Jeyne’s hand, his face was still and though his eyes were upon the tall man, he did not seem to see him. The man, unsure of what to do, rushed out of the room. Jeyne wondered if she should do the same. She did not know how to comfort him. But before she could decide, the king kissed her. His mouth tasted of salt and grief and Jeyne could feel his tears on her cheeks. That thing inside of her moved strongly and she knew she’d taken his heart.

How long they kissed, Jeyne could not say. The concept of time did not exist as they kissed and nipped at each other any and every where. She found that she became most excited when the Young Wolf traced his fingers down the back of her bodice while gently biting her neck. And when he kissed the top of her breasts, she giggled. Soon Jeyne’s small clothes were wet with her own juices and she felt a warm pressure in her loins that she knew would not be satiated by kissing. The king must have felt it too because he broke off from her and sat struggling to unlace his breeches. Jeyne helped him and then undressed herself.

The king sucked in his breath and looked over Jeyne’s body as though he’d never seen the likes of her before. She knew he wanted her and that made her even more excited. He slid his hands between her thighs and pushed a finger inside of her and moved it about. The pressure in Jeyne’s loins grew and she moaned and grabbed a thicket of his auburn hair. She saw that the king’s member stood half-alert and so she wrapped her hand about it and began to move up and down his shaft. She figured that the King in the North liked that because he pulled his finger out of her and sat with his eyes closed, mouth agape as she continued to work her hand about him.

After a minute or so, between moans, he panted, “I think you’re supposed to lie back now, My Lady”

“Oh...of course.” Jeyne laid on her back and the king climbed on top of her. There was a strange look in his eyes. Jeyne thought it looked a little like fear. _He has never done this before either_ , she realized. She could also tell that his armed pained him. A wild idea came to her, but Jeyne was certain it would work. She slid from under the king and helped him lie on his back. She then climbed on top of him and planted a kiss on his mouth, then his neck, and then his chest working her way down slowly until she reached his throbbing limb. She looked up at the king; his eyes were wide with anticipation. Jeyne lightly brushed her lips over his manhood. “I think not,” she said, smiling coyly as she sat up. She grabbed his member and winced as she slid him inside of her. The initial pain was searing; Jeyne had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Yet, it soon transformed into an ache of pleasure as she began to rhythmically move up and down. The rebel king put his hand about her waist again and moaned...

***  
Some time later, Jeyne sat on her bed, still naked, while the king stood over her.

“It would be the…the honorable thing to do,” he said.

Jeyne turned her head from him and lowered her gaze, choosing to stare at her lap rather than his face. “Yes… honor,” she sighed. _It always came back to that_ , she thought. _How could such a small word carry so much weight?_

When she was a child, her father would often prattle about it. “Honor is all we have,” He’d say, while she bounced on his knee barely listening. “Temptation will come, but keep it clean and let no one stain it.”

_But father, how do I keep my honor clean if I am the one who soiled it?_

Jeyne nodded and smiled sadly. It was a question she already knew the answer to.

She turned her head towards him, looked him in the eyes, and whispered “yes, Robb, we must marry.” _And I must scrub this stain away._


End file.
